


no matter the world, no matter the universe (you're the only choice to make)

by mystarsandmyocean



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-02-11 03:25:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2051805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystarsandmyocean/pseuds/mystarsandmyocean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of AU drabbles and what if's, where some things chance and others remain exactly the same. </p><p>Most Recently Added: Harry Potter 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fringe 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the world we have and the world we want - part 1
> 
> (A Fringe AU)

This is - not _Thea_ , not his doe-eyed, brunette, _missing_ little sister - but it is not, _not_ Thea either.

No trace of mirth exists in this girl's eyes; they narrow and divide their focus between him and Felicity, quivering in her computer chair. Quivering because this - this not, not Thea - is holding a bow and arrow to her throat, too close for him to intervene.

_His_ Thea does not know how to shoot a bow and arrow. Based on her stance, the muscles wired taunt in her arms, this one does.

But the most glaring difference of them all? The one that chokes his throat, even though it shouldn't, even though, most likely, it means _nothing_ (not that his sister has returned from Malcolm, not that she's embraced her Queen heritage despite his and Moira's lies, not that she has come home, to _him_ ), is her hair, shimmering honey blonde beneath the foundry lights.

Oliver blinks.

This Thea - not, _not_ Thea's - hair is honey blonde, the same shade as his. But the shimmering is not limited to her hair; her body almost - wavers? - in the light, as if she is there and then not, there and then not, there and then -

"Felicity!" not-Thea snaps.

His Felicity jolts in his chair, snapping to attention, but not-Thea's attention strikes elsewhere. To a figure huddling in the corner, hands held before her, a warding or cry for help. How had he not noticed her 'til now?

"Felicity!" not-Thea snaps again, softer this time, "get it under control!"

"Not Felicity," cries the figure, shaking, her hands clenching tight then releasing, "not Felicity, not Felicity, not Felicity!" Oliver steps forward, a suspicion curling in his mind, angling away from _his_ Felicity and towards - not his Felicity, no, though they could be twins, in another life, in another world. She - this not, not Felicity - shudders and gasps, meeting his eyes, and they're her eyes, they're _his Felicity?s eyes_ , but her hair is chestnut, not blonde, hanging in limp tangles around her face, and her lips are not pink, but red - red, he realizes, because she has bitten right through them, stained them with her blood ?

Thea - no, not, not Thea, his mind reminds him - shoves past, knocking his ass to the ground (he does not remember falling to his knees) and grabs this Felicity - this not, not Felicity's - cheeks, cradling her face. Both of their bodies shimmer in the air.

"Your name is Felicity Megan Smoak," Thea, _not_ Thea, commands, "your favorite color is pink, you have a weird obsession with classical music, you told me last week that I am your best friend, and you are the smartest person I know. Your name is Felicity Megan Smoak, your favorite color is pink..."

Slowly, slowly, the shaking stops; they no longer shimmer, half there and not.

Felicity - no, _not_ Felicity, but not _not_ \- throws herself against Thea, wraps bony arms round her neck. "'m sorry, Thea," she mumbles, "thought I could control it better."

"Trust me," Thea hisses, her eyes glaring at the wall, "this is not your fault."

They sit in silence, not, _not_ Thea rubbing small circles into not, _not_ Felicity?s back. His mind has gone blissfully blank - he has finally reached his personal limit of acceptable weird in his life (he's surprised he didn?t pass that point with Barry and superspeed or Japanese super-soldier serum).

"What exactly," Felicity interrupts, voice straining, "is going _on_?"

\---

"I'm Oliver Merlyn." He hesitates. "Oliver. Merlyn." He rolls the name around on his tongue, sinks it over in his mind.

Is not quite sure what to think.

"Is me."

"Is you," not, _not_ Thea repeats, voice bland. This is her third time giving an explanation for events.

"I'm sorry," Felicity - _his_ Felicity, not the girl shaking on the couch, hands clasped in not, not Thea's - interrupts, "what you're saying, is, well impossible. And we've dealt with some impossible things - freak accidents, super soldiers, _super heroes_. This just, is ridiculous - I mean - science doesn't work like that -"

Felicity looks like her world is crumbling around her; Oliver doesn't blame her; him and the feeling are intimate friends.

"It does," Thea interrupts, narrowing her focus to her, "And I hate to be the one to tell you, but if Felicity's right about the differences between our world and yours - and she hasn't been wrong yet - you should be able to universe hop too."

Now Oliver's stomach rolls - he does not like the implication of his Felicity looking like her Felicity, broken and sputtering, a mind beyond repair.

"How?" Felicity croaks.

Thea - _not_ Thea - raises one delicate eyebrow and looks just like his sister for a moment. "Your father."

Oliver turns his gaze to Felicity's; he's getting whiplash from all these revelations or reveals or whatever the hell they are. "I thought you said you didn't _know_ your father. I thought you said he _left_?"

Felicity shrinks, and he wants to take back his words - he didn't mean to accuse her, it's just, he thought, they don't _lie_ to each other. God, he thought today was going to be _normal_ \- normal for them, at least. "He did," she insists, holding his eyes one moment more before turning back to Thea, "My father left before I turned five, what does he have to do with any of this?"

By the time, Thea - no, Oliver reminds himself again, not, _not_ Thea - finishes, him and Felicity have joined not, not Felicity in silence.

Only theirs comes from shock.

\---

(A basic explanation of this universe is this:

Oliver Queen died just shy of his seventh birthday. Oliver Merlyn, son of Malcolm and Moira Merlyn, one universe over, did not. 

Moira Queen couldn't handle the loss of her baby, her little Oliver, so she searched and she searched and she found a scientist in Las Vegas, Nevada with studies about alternative universes and reports of how he'd _seen_ them, but just didn't have enough money to research crossing over.

That scientist? John Smoak. The money? Moira was happy to provide. 

But to cross universes, you see, one must have a child's brain - they are most easily molded - and must be _smart_ , and how convenient for John Smoak that he has the perfect test subject in his little girl, so primed and perfect and ready to go. Felicity Smoak, barely a child, learns to cross universes - though learns is a nice way of putting it, after the experiments and the tests of her father. 

Regardless, Felicity Smoak and Moira Queen travel just a universe away and bring Oliver Merlyn to his new home, leaving a devastated Malcolm and Moira Merlyn in their wake. Oliver Merlyn - now Oliver Queen, renamed - is none the wiser. When Jessica Smoak discovers her husband's experiments, on their _child_ , she kicks John Smoak to the curb; eventually, Felicity Smoak forgets she ever knew what universe-crossing even meant. 

This, for the record, is why Robert Queen had no issue caring for a child - Thea - who was not quite his own. He was already so intimately familiar with the act. 

A universe away, Malcolm and Moira's marriage fell apart, but not before they tried for another son - and so Tommy Merlyn was born, to a universe just as cruel to him as another. Moira remarried Robert and had Thea, there a Queen in full, and Malcolm, it turns out, is not so different from his ex-wife and lover after all. 

In that other universe, Malcolm Merlyn also tracks down John Smoak and his experiments. But he's a few years too late and Felicity's mind too developed: she takes twenty long years to harness her abilities, twenty years of torture and pain, twenty years in which Oliver Merlyn grows thinking he's Oliver Queen, in which Oliver Merlyn goes on the Queen's Gambit with his father, is stranded on Lian Yu, and becomes the Arrow. 

By the time, the Malcolm Merlyn of that universe crosses over, the Undertaking has happened; his counterpart is dead. He waits and gathers information, not knowing his son is _right there_ , and instead, discovers that in this universe - Thea Queen is his child, Thea Queen ought to be Thea Merlyn since she is the daughter of Malcolm and Moira. 

He gladly takes on the role of his dead counterpart, no one the wiser. Malcolm Merlyn plots to take back his blood, not knowing that his _actual_ child has resided in this universe all the while. 

When he does find out? He'll do whatever it takes to bring Oliver back _home._ )


	2. fringe 2

_the world we have and the world we want_ \- part 2

(A Fringe AU)

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

"She didn’t handle the transition well," Malcolm explains, frowning as he guides them down the corridor. The white walls muffle his voice, their footsteps, the hushed whispers of doctors and nurses. "I’ve brought in the brightest minds in the country, the facility is top-grade, but…"

Malcolm halts. This door is as unremarkable, undistinguishable as the last ten they’ve passed.

"I want you to be prepared, son." _Son_. His mind still rebels against that label - they may share blood, but this man is not his father. “The Felicity we brought here-“

_We_ , he scoffs. As if he’d been given a choice.

"-may not be the Felicity you remember."

The Felicity he remembers trembled when Malcolm held a gun to her head, her body flush against his, his arm clenched around her waist.

"Take us!" he’d demanded. "Take us back to our world!"

The Felicity he remembers - _his_ Felicity - had refused, her reasons reflected in her stare: her life is not worth his. She will not make him an island, not again.

What she doesn’t understand - an island, a universe with her, that’s enough for him.

His Felicity had refused. This world’s Felicity - Fauxlicity, Felicity had nicknamed her - had not.

He has not seen either since waking, in a bed that was familiar and foreign all at once ( _Tommy’s bed_ , his mind had screamed. Tommy’s room, not _his_.)

"You can see her now, Mr. Merlyn. She’s been - asking for you."

Oliver ignores the nurse, his fingers hovering above the door handle. Asking? Or crying? Or, he wishes, demanding, her Loud Voice in full force?

"Thank you, Tiffany. My son appreciates the care you’ve given Miss Smoak." The nurse hesitates in the hallway. She doesn’t trust him - not Malcolm, CEO of Merlyn Global and scion of Starling City. Him - Oliver Merlyn - the prodigal son returned after twenty years a hostage, him, she doesn’t trust. What would she say with the whole story? "We’ll call for you when we’re finished."

"Of course, Mr. Merlyn."

Here, the Merlyn name merits trust and admiration. Oliver cannot reconcile this man as separate from the one who tore his city in two.

The barriers to her room are finally conquered; Oliver’s hand clenches round the handle, releases it, clenches it again.

"Not Felicity," Fauxlicity had cried their first meeting, the strain of moving between worlds too much for her, "not Felicity, not Felicity, not Felicity…"

"Son?" Malcolm probes, his voice warm. _Caring_. ”We can come back later, if you’d prefer. Meet your brother for lunch instead.”

Oliver’s stomach rolls - Tommy, his _brother_ , alive and as angry as his counterpart was across worlds.

"Oliver?" Malcolm’s hand lands on his shoulder, tries to guide him away from the door.

He wrenches away, jamming the door handle down and forward. He’s done talking to this man. He’s done with this world, as strange and unfamiliar as those first few days after the island.

He barges into the room - _her_ room - and wishes he had heeded Malcolm’s warnings.

—-

"You can’t do this!" Felicity cries, pulling at the restraints. A week has scraped away her strength, her voice, but she can still fight.

She doesn’t believe otherwise.

"You can’t - keep me - here - forever!"

The human body can only survive three weeks without water. Felicity really wishes she didn’t know that now.

A buzzer rings. The door swings open.

Huh. No one’s answered her before.

"Hey!" The figure stays in the doorway, shrouded by shadows. "What is going on? Where am I? Who the hell do you think you are, you - you -"

Chuckles interrupt her shouts; the figure saunters into the room.

It’s Malcolm Merlyn. Of course it is. Why isn’t she surprised?

"You!" she yelps, yanking on her bonds with renewed vigor. She’s avoided Oliver’s name until now - her last memories include him wearing the hood - but she doesn’t need to protect his secret from Merlyn. Protect him from other things, certainly, but not that. "Where’s Oliver? Where’s Fauxlicity? Are they okay? What have you done with them? If you’ve hurt them, I swear -"

Her cheek slams into the metal table.

"Don’t suggest I would harm my son again, Miss Smoak." Malcolm smiles, but his grin holds no warmth. "Anything I do is in Oliver’s best interests."

"You and Moira really _did_ make a good match,” Felicity blurts out before wincing. She really does think of the worst times to say things.

A moment later, she changes her mind: where Moira would have raised an eyebrow, making Felicity feel like scum beneath her shoe, Malcolm chuckles, his grin stretching wider. She likes - well, not _likes_ \- an enemy who makes their intentions clear. She doesn’t deal well with secrets.

"Unfortunately for you," Malcolm continues, "I don’t think the same of you and Oliver. I can’t risk you stealing him away - again. Oliver needs to accept where he’s from, and he can’t very well do that with reminders hanging around."

"You don’t know Oliver too well if you think he’s just going to _forget_ his life up until now - that man holds onto _everything_ \- ” Including some things she’d rather he not “- he’s not just going to fall in line because you say so. He wouldn’t even do that for his own mother, and let me tell you, Moira Queen was -“

Her other cheek slams into the metal table; a ringing sounds in her ears. Right. No mentioning the woman who kidnapped Oliver from this universe to begin with. Not that there’s any love lost between her and Moira Queen, apart from some lost memories on Felicity’s -

"I think you’ll find Oliver and - what did you call her? - Fauxlicity more than content here, Miss Smoak." He picks up a piece of her hair, studies it, wrapping the strand around his finger. "I’ve made alternative arrangements for you, of course. Everything’s finally set up - though I do have redudencies, should they be necessary."

A shiver runs down her spine. Some things, it seems, never change.

Malcolm releases her hair, stepping back. ”Your father is very eager to meet you, Miss Smoak. To see how you’ve grown without his influence.”

Bile rises in her throat, her eyes swinging to the doorway. She doesn’t recognize the man there, but his eyes - _her eyes_ \- she does (she may dye her hair, but glasses can only do so much).

"Hello, my girl," he croons, stepping towards her as Malcolm falls back. "It’s a pleasure."

A memory stirs, shaking loose from the forgotten corners of her mind. She swallows, twisting against her restraints once more. Yeah, she thinks, remembering Fauxlicity, her stories and her cries. Some things never change.


	3. veronica mars 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life's a Bitch - Part 1:
> 
> Thea doesn’t know what tore her family apart, but she can promise Starling City this. She will find out what really happened and she will bring her family back together again. Is that mushy? Well, you know what they say. Thea Queen, she’s a marshmallow.
> 
> (A Veronica Mars AU)

God, she hates high school.

A year ago, she ruled these halls, every nerd, punk, and jock jostling out of her way, eager to please.

Joanna de la Vega – her old lab partner – practically trips to avoid Thea’s gaze; a year ago, they swapped fashion tips through chemistry.

Now?  When she comes a calling, they go a running, but there’s no admiration in their eyes.  Just  _fear_.  Her daily reminder that Thea Queen, heiress and sister of Oliver Queen, rules the school no more.  Thea Queen, the killer’s sister – she’s the one they watch out for.

Yeah.  She just  _loves_  high school. 

One little murder charge and everything – her father, her brother, her friends, her  _life_  – it all goes away.  Not one friend believed her or Ollie when he claimed innocence. 

What did she know, they cried?   _She_  was just a kid and thought her brother held the stars.  Not the answers – and the cause – to Sara Lance’s disappearance, the biggest crime Starling’s ever seen. 

What do they know?  Ollie hadn’t killed Sara; Thea would bet her life on it.  In a way, she has.

A crowd huddles up ahead, swamping the main courtyard.  No teachers, which explains the jeers and cheering, student entertainment at its finest.  Rolling her eyes, she veers right, ready to hustle past –

“Give it back!”

Snickers travel through the crowd.  She’s glad to see the masses haven’t been educated since school let out in May.  It’ll give the teachers something to work with.  Changing course, she veers left, elbowing and glaring her way through the crowd – there are times everyone thinking she’s caught the murder gene has its advantages.  Now, for example.

She almost groans, though, when she reaches the front.  Could Starling High  _be_  anymore _She’s All That_?  (Minus, of course, the actual romance.  Please.  Though she’d bet new girl – cause she has never seen fresh, blonde, and four-eyes before – would look excellent in something a little less schoolgirl and a little more  _hot_.)

New girl stands opposite one Roy Harper, arms crossed in front of her chest.  It would be intimidating if she weren’t so – well –  _cute_.  He, on the other hand, doesn’t look too happy with her – not that Thea’s ever seen Roy Harper happy. 

Every school has an obligatory psychotic jackass.  He’s theirs.

“Harper,” Thea interrupts – new girl looks ready to cry, and that’s not going to help her case.  “Didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners?” 

It’s a low blow, she knows.  But today isn’t exactly Thea’s day. 

Harper flinches, eyes narrowing.  They’ve never had a problem before, but picking on girls half his size?  Thea had higher expectations.  “Yeah,” Harper spits back, “well, we all know what your mom taught you.  Got the next Queen victim picked out yet?”

Thea grins.  Like she hasn’t heard that one before.  Brother’s a murderer, daddy jumped ship, momma’s popping pills to handle it all.  Check out TMZ or Entertainment Weekly for your next update.  She turns to new girl instead – she’s staring, eyes huge behind her glasses.

“So what’s your problem with Harper?”

“He –” new girl’s tongue dashes out, wets her lips.  They’re painted fuchsia, a bold choice for such a slip of a girl. “He took my laptop – well, not just my laptop, my whole bag too – yesterday, and now he took my phone, and I would really like my stuff back!”  Her voice gains volume with each word; by the end, she’s glaring at Harper again, glasses sliding down her nose. 

“And I told you, blondie,” Harper says, “I didn’t take it.  And if I did, you’d be dumb if you think the cops are gonna do anything about it.”

Well, that explains Harper’s hard-on for her – everybody knows not to report it if Harper and his gang filch something from you.  Other than Lance, they’re all corrupt shitheads – and Thea’s opinion of Lance isn’t too high either.  The first bell rings; Thea’s grip tightens on her bag.  She does  _not_  have the time for this.  “What’s your number?”  Harper and new girl turn to her.  “Wasting sunlight, new girl – what’s your number?”

“It’s Felicity,” she responds, cheeks turning red.  “Not my number – I mean, my name.  My number’s (702) 871-5681.

A moment later, “Say My Name” echoes through the air; Felicity’s glare at Harper intensifies. 

“Is that her phone in your pocket?” Thea drawls, crossing her arms.  The crowds doubled by now – nothing spreads quicker than a fight between the resident gangbanger and upcoming murderer to start the school year.  Great.

Roy smirks, and yeah, the girl she was a year ago would have found it attractive.  Now?  She wants to knock it off his pretty face.  Aren’t low lives supposed to have scars and tattoos or something?  “I’m just happy to see you, babe.”  He leers.   

Oh, she  _really_  does not have time for this.

“Great,” she preens, strutting forward, blocking new girl from his view. “Why don’t we do dinner and you can show me then?  Unless you want to show me now?”  Harper stutters, stepping back; Thea’s smile turns predatory.  “What,  _babe_?  I didn’t think you were the shy type.”

“You gonn’a let her talk to you like that, Harper?” 

Sin – Cindy, not that anyone with half a brain calls her that – gives Thea the stinkeye.  As if Thea’s actually hitting on her man, or whatever. 

“Listen, Harper,” Thea continues, “I’d love to see what you’ve got, but things to do, people to see, you know how it is for us serial killers.”  A particular favorite rumor of hers – the reason Robert Queen had split, one blog had theorized, was because he had taught Oliver and Thea all his tricks and now that Oliver’d been caught, he thought it was only a matter of time before he went next.  “Why don’t you give Felicity here her phone back and we’ll call this chat a date?  You want another one, you’ll need to call  _me_.”

Thea presses redial; “Say My Name” echoes from his pocket yet again. 

Glaring, and boy can that boy  _smolder_ , Harper drops the phone into Thea’s waiting palm.  “It was a cheap piece of shit, anyways,” he mutters before stalking off, Sin and his crew trailing after him.

Thea rolls her eyes, palming the phone off to Felicity, who’s staring at Thea with something akin to awe.  After a year of glares and giggles, she doesn’t like it.  Thea’s not a murderer, but she’s nobody  _good_  either - new girl better learn that fast.  

“Thanks,” Felicity starts, gripping the phone to her chest, as if afraid it’s going to run away. “That was – um – really nice of you.”  She juts out her other hand, beaming.  “I’m Felicity – Felicity Smoak.  Which you know, cause I told you my name, but I wanted to introduce myself, cause I don’t know  _your_ name and you kind of just saved my life there.  I mean, not literally, but my phone is sort of my life, so thank you again…”

Thea reassess her opinion of Felicity Smoak, new girl.  If she talks that much, maybe the fuchsia isn’t so bold after all.  And she  _did_ stand up to Harper before Thea got there.  Who knows?  She might last.

“Don’t mention it,” Thea replies, turning away from Felicity Smoak and her beaming smile.  She might last –  _if_  she stays away from Thea Queen, social pariah.  The bell shrieks, and she picks up her pace, strutting towards the double doors that separate the courtyard from the classrooms. 

A flash of chestnut catches her attention, curled and preened to perfection.  There had been a summer, once, when she had spent every day staring at those curls, frying her hair into an imperfect mimicry. 

_“So you still think Ollie didn’t do it, Thea? She was my sister! Your friend! What’s the matter with you people – with you?”_

Throat tight, Thea ducks left, away from the double doors and Laurel Lance.  Being late beats another confrontation with Ollie’s ex-girlfriend, Sara’s sister.

Another confrontation with Laurel Lance, her – where  _do_  they stand now?  Thea isn’t sure.

They used to be friends, though.  A long time ago. 


	4. ouat 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and i will find you (i will always find you) - part 1
> 
> “Are you Sara Lance?” the girl asked, awfully precocious for a ten year old. ”Yes,” Sara replied, wary as hell because one) what parent let their kid out this late, and two) if this kid had no parents, what the fuck was she supposed to do about that? She didn’t exactly have any to take example from. “Great!” the kid chirped, “My name’s Laurel - I’m your daughter. You need to come with me - I know who your parents are, and they kind of need our help.”
> 
> (An OUAT AU)

Drawing back his bowstring, Oliver glowered at the carriage below. 

A year ago, he would have been  _in_  that carriage.  Perhaps not that one in particular.  But still – the thought was the same.  His scowl deepened.

Almost in sight, now. 

The carriage rumbled down the road, wheels jostling on the dirt and gravel.  The passengers inside were idiots, to take the King’s Road – far less people and far more out of the way.  Even the peasants knew that. 

A voice drifted from the window, feminine and high.  “I just thought, it would be nice – it’s so pretty here, you know…”

Just a few feet more.

“This way, we can get to know each other – not that I don’t know who you are, of course, but, well –”

_There_. 

Oliver released his arrow, knocking the carriage off its course, and notched three more, taking down the guards.  Swinging off his perch, he dropkicked the last of the men, rolling and spinning back round before he could recover.  The guard drew his sword, lunging; Oliver stepped away, releasing another arrow through his throat. 

Easy enough.

He lowered his bow, eyes skimming the guards for any signs of movement.  All that was left was –

Pain blossomed at the back of his head; he stumbled forward, nearly dropping his bow.  Spinning round, he lunged at his attacker, knocking them both to the ground, his hands wrapping round her –

Oliver blinked. 

“You’re a girl,” he exclaimed, hands still gripping her neck.  Not just any girl.  A very pretty, very  _noble_  girl – with hair the color of sunshine, skin the color of snow, and lips the color of flowers in spring.  He could feel the curves of her hips between his thighs and wished, suddenly, that they had met in much less  _platonic_  circumstances.

Pain hit him again, now at his forehead.  “Woman!” she hissed, winding her arm – and her rock – back again.  Oliver grabbed her wrist, pushing her chest into full view.  Her very lovely, very distracting –

Light caught his eyes. 

It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.  He yanked the ring, chain and all, off her neck, before leaping up, the forest hiding him, as always. 

Behind him, her voice called to him. 

“Hey!  That belongs to me! You can’t hide from me, whoever you are – I’ll find you!”

Oliver clutched the ring tighter, and thought of her hair, her lips, the fire in her clear, blue eyes.  He half-hoped she would.


	5. ouat 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and i will find you (i will always find you) - part 2
> 
> Felicity, the happiest girl in all the land, and her rogue prince were nothing more than a child’s tale.
> 
> (An OUAT AU)

Sarah frowned, jamming her hands deeper into the pockets of her leather jacket. Megan Smoak’s smile beamed too brightly, her eyes too guileless at Sara and Laurel’s tale. “Yeah,” Sarah scoffed, “she thinks we’re all characters in some book or something.”

Megan’s lips puckered together into an o-shape, the corners of her eyes - a clear, crystal blue - crinkling upwards. Clearly, the kid was delusional, but this, she could admit: Megan Smoak _was_ cute - it wasn’t hard to picture her as a fairy tale character.

"And who," Megan teased, tapping one green-painted nail against her jaw, "does Little Miss Laurel think I am?"

Sara’s jaw dropped, a wave of longing rolling through her. Little Miss Sara, she’d once pretended, a mother’s nickname for her little girl.

It was just a story, she reminded herself, snapping her mouth shut. Megan Smoak was _not_ her long, lost, fairy tale mother.

Felicity, the happiest girl in all the land, and her rogue prince were nothing more than a child’s tale. 

—-

"The baby’s coming!"

"The baby can’t be coming," Oliver snapped, slipping his arms behind Felicity’s back, "the baby _and_ Felicity are going in the wardrobe.”

"Oliver," Felicity moaned, clutching the bedsheets, bucking away from his grasp, "we can’t have her now, it’s too soon!"

John braced Felicity’s knees wide, frowning at his king and his queen, his comrades and two closest friends. Bad enough they wouldn’t be able to raise their little girl together, to send her off, alone -

"Felicity," he sighed, "you don’t have a choice. This baby’s coming whether you like it or not."

Her eyes filled with tears, another contraction rocking through her. She wrapped one arm round her bulging stomach, twisting her fingers in her nightgown. Oliver held tight to her other hand; their foreheads pressed together, a thousand promises in that single glance. Finally, she swallowed, switching her gaze back to John. Oliver clenched his eyes shut.  Today was supposed to be a happy story.   _Their_ happy story.  He didn’t know when their next one would come - if it even would.

John gave his friends a grim smile. “Okay Felicity. Deep breath, then push!”

—-

“She’s beautiful, Oliver,” Felicity sniffled, wiping one thumb against her daughter’s ruddy cheek.  Hiccupping, she laid her head on Oliver’s arm, beaming up at her husband. “And lucky little miss – she looks just like you - not that she looks like a boy, but you’re the handsome one - not that she’s handsome, I mean, not that that would be if she was…”

His laugh rumbled through her, the most soothing lullaby she could remember.  Finally, he tore his gaze away from their daughter – their _baby_ – pinning that singular gaze to Felicity instead. 

He’d always stared, but ever since their wedding, since _Malcolm_ , his gaze held a heavier intent – as if by memorizing every inch of her face, he could ward off whatever curse was to come. 

“No,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to hers, their scars aligning, “she’s ours.”

Felicity beamed, happiness flooding down to her toes, and pressed her lips to Oliver’s, savoring the feel, the taste –

The door crashed open. 

“Your majesties,” John boomed, “it’s – he’s – here.”

Felicity gasped, slamming her eyes shut; Oliver cursed – they were supposed to have _more time_ , damnit, more time than this – just these few minutes –

“How long?” he croaked. 

Screams, the clang of sword and sword, began to echo from the hall – answer enough.  He nodded at John, his first goodbye.  His friend, his comrade, dipped his head in return, and then swept back the way he’d came, sword in hand. 

“You have to go, Oliver,” Felicity demanded, hitching their daughter up to wrap her more securely. “Make sure she’s safe – _promise_ _me_ she’ll be safe.”

He accepted the bundle – the burden and promise of her safety – but didn’t move.  There wasn’t supposed to be a _choice_.  He wasn’t supposed to _choose_. 

“We can – we can try both of you –” he stuttered, cupping her cheek in his hand, running his eyes over her hair, her eyes, her lips, all those features he’d loved the moment they’d first met – before he’d learned the fire, the intelligence and kindness that lied beneath – and tried to picture a world without her, without _them_ , and couldn’t. 

Felicity always promised they would find another way.

“Oliver,” Felicity cried, shoving against his arm, “we can’t risk it, you know we can’t – take her and _go_ , save her, save our daughter – promise me you’ll save her –”

Oliver held their daughter close, cradling her against his chest.  He swallowed the lump in his throat, the burn building in his eyes, and pressed his lips against hers, memorizing her taste, her feel –

“Go,” she whispered, rubbing her thumb against the scar – _her_ scar – on his forehead, “She’ll find us.  We always find our way home.”

Blinking back tears, Oliver nodded, turned away, and ran. 

—-

Oliver stumbled into the nursery, his daughter cradled against his chest.  Fighting without his bow had been difficult, fighting without his bow and with one arm occupied, a near impossibility. 

But there had been no choice to make. 

The room spun, and he latched onto the wall for support.  Felicity would not be happy with him – she _hated_ stitching knife wounds, and the one in his gut had delved particularly deep. 

It might even be fatal. 

The wardrobe stood in the center of the room – except – had there always been three of them? 

Shaking his head, Oliver dropped to his knees, shifting his daughter closer to his chest.  She cried, a foghorn in the haze that had overtaken his mind, and he lifted his head. 

He had to – he had to –

_“Save her, save our daughter – promise me you’ll save her.”_

He’d made a promise to Felicity.  He couldn’t break it now – not when he was so close…

With a grunt, Oliver swung the wardrobe open, trembling as he placed his little girl inside.  She stopped crying then, staring up at him with clear, blue eyes – her mother’s eyes…

“Find us,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his daughter’s forehead, her sweet baby smell overtaking the tang of copper. “Find us, Sara.  We love you so, so much.”

He swung the wardrobe shut, fumbled with the latch, spots overtaking his vision.  Sliding to the floor, he thought of his daughter, her clear, blue eyes; of Felicity and her smile and how very much he loved her…

And then he thought no more, and darkness was all he knew.       


	6. ouat 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and i will find you (i will always find you) - part 3
> 
> An interlude far, far into the future. 
> 
> (An OUAT AU)

This is not her life.  This  _cannot_ be her life.  

"Shado?" Sara squeaks - actually  _squeaks_ , ugh, but yeah, she’d recognize Shado’s face anywhere, this is the girl who picked Sara up off the streets, who gave her a  _home_ , and then - 

Well, left.  Like everybody else in her life. (“I’m sorry, Sara. Giving you up was the hardest choice we’ve ever made,” Megan - no,  _Felicity_ , dammit, she was  _not_ calling her ex-roommate/friend/whatever _mom_ , had sniffled, curled into Jonas’ - Oliver, fuck, she’d call them whatever she wanted and they’d deal - side like they’d been glued together.  ”But saving you,” Jonas had insisted, reaching for her hand, “Giving you a life away from the curse - there was  _no choice_ to make.”)

"Sara!" Shado exclaims, scrambling across the sidewalk to wrap her in a hug, "Oh, Sara, I’d seen the message, but I wasn’t sure - I’m so happy for you!  Have you broken the curse then?"

Sara stills in her arms.  Wait,  _what?_

"You knew?" Sara whispers into Shado’s shoulder, everything sliding into place.  The way she’d appeared out of nowhere, the weird training - who used a bow and arrow,  _seriously_ , even if she did prefer a staff, the obsession with old tales despite her love of technology, the refusal to discuss her past, _god_ , her help with the adoption.  

"Not at first," Shado said, pulling back.  Always that same, level voice - as if, given enough time, she could explain all the troubles and mysterious in the world. "But yes, I knew about the curse, about your destiny.  I knew -" She frowned, voice dropping "-I knew you had to face it alone."

Shado stood, offered a hand to Sara.  ”Come on, my apartment isn’t far. I’ll explain there.”  

Reluctantly, Sara slipped her hand into Shado’s, let her lift her from the ground.  Her apartment. Right.  Where Slade awaited, eager to hunt down his long-lost love.

Who apparently was Shado. 

To her relief, Shado didn’t question Sara’s arrival in New York until they reached her building, digging in her bag for her keys.  Opening the door, she turned back to Sara, a frown playing on her lips.  ”Sara?  How _did_ you know where I was?”

Sara didn’t hear her.  All her attention lay with the scene - the very  _deadly_ scene before them.

"Nyssa?" 

"Nyssa?" Shado repeated, "I thought my people had escaped the curse…"

"We did, Shado," Nyssa responded, her sword pressed against Slade’s throat. "But you know the code - this _monster_ still has debts to repay.”  The pirate looked behind Shado, a smile spreading across her face. “Hello, little bird.  It’s lovely to see you again.”

"Yeah," Sara stuttered, "Hello to you too."


	7. harry potter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i solemnly swear that i am up to no good - part 1
> 
> “What exactly do you need my help for, Oliver?” Felicity sighed, wrapping her arms around her waist. He reached a hand for her knee, paused, remembering - well, everything - before pulling back. 
> 
> ”I want -” he rasped, clenching his fist, “I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for.”
> 
> (A Harry Potter Marauders-era AU)

The aurors had questioned her earlier today. First, at home, then, at her office - and what an experience _that_ had been to explain - followed by a drop in at her weekly lunch with Diggle. As if in between each round of questioning, she would suddenly break down and reveal that yes, she did, in fact, still associate with Oliver Queen, mass murderer and renowned Death Eater, and did, in reality, know where he was hiding.   
  
They were right about one thing. If she did know where Oliver was, the aurors were the last people she'd tell.   
  
But not because she wanted to hide, or god forbid, help the bastard.  If Oliver Queen found her - or if she found him - she was going to be the one to _first_ , force him to give her an honest answer (the only honest answer she'd ever asked of him), and then, _second_ , be the one to bury his body herself.   
  
But, as the aurors had been dropping by all day, however annoying and overbearing they could be, when she heard the echo of footsteps on her walk home, she dismissed it as no more than another untimely inconvenience.   
  
("Felicity," she could just hear Diggle sigh, "you're a witch. A genius witch. Can you please give an old man a break and apparate home like the rest of us?" "Please, John, don't let Lyla call you old, she'll put you on double-shifts the rest of the month," she wanted to reply, but well, the Dig in her head didn't exactly exist - unless she'd developed legilimency sometime since lunch, which wasn't an altogether impossible theory if -)   
  
A hand wrapped round Felicity's mouth, an arm pulling her flush against a very large, very muscular, very _familiar_ body.   
  
Felicity tried to shriek, clawing at her attacker's hands, twisting against his arm - it had been so long since she'd used her wand in defense, she lost precious seconds before the instinct kicked in, and by then, she felt the prick of wood at her throat, followed by a rasped, " _Silencio_."   
  
Her attacker spun her around, pinning her against the alley wall he'd dragged her into, and Felicity released a silent shriek.   
  
For the first time in ten years, Oliver Queen stared back at her.   
  
Pressing her lips together - she couldn't believe he'd stolen her wand, he knew how she felt about other people using her things - she slapped his chest, shoving against him, demanding wordlessly he step away and let her go. Why, a hysterical part of her wondered, she thought he would care about such trivial things as her preferences about wand use, was another story, and oh god, now was _not_ the time to be lose focus -   
  
"Felicity," Oliver demanded, and god, he even said her name the same way, the bastard, "Felicity, I'm sorry, I didn't want to get you involved, but you're the only one I trust, and it's Thea -"   
  
She slapped him; he gaped back at her. What the hell was wrong with him? Help him, she wanted to kill him, after what he'd done - she reached her hand up again, but he caught her wrist, gripping her shoulder with his other hand.    
  
"Slade set me up," he pleaded, digging his fingers into her shoulders. "Felicity, you have to believe me - I would _never_ turn traitor or help them. You _know_ me."   
  
She did know him. Or she thought she had. But -   
  
Thirteen dead. _Including_ his mother, Moira, and Quentin Lance, the closest people to parents she'd ever had. Dig had lost his brother. And Thea, orphaned and alone, had been sent to live with Malcolm Merlyn, a loyal follower of Ra's and his pure blood nonsense - and Tommy could only do so much without risking disinheritance.   
  
They'd all lost so much. She'd lost it all.   
  
"Felicity," Oliver rasped, gaze pinned to hers beneath his tangle of hair; now, more than ever, he looked like a Gryffindor lion, fierce and focused and unwilling to lose. "I didn't kill anyone - I promise you that I am _innocent_. And - and I still love you, even if -" his voice cracked "-even if you've moved on. I know - I know ten years is a long time, but..."   
  
"Oliver," Felicity started, speechless from his words, _not_ the spell.    
  
She'd wanted an honest answer, hadn't she? And even without Veritaserum, she'd always known when he was lying.    
  
He slammed his eyes shut. "Right," he murmured, "that's - that's not important now. What's important is Slade - he's still alive, Felicity. Thea - she's - she's in danger."   
  
Reaching her hand up, she covered Oliver's, twining their fingers together. This - this was way too much to absorb; she needed time and coffee and a clear explanation as to what the hell Oliver was talking about -   
  
Turned out the aurors hadn't been so foolish in their constant checks after all.   
  
"Oh - okay, Oliver, I'll listen to you, but we can't do it here," she told him, stepping back, mind racing. Her flat was off limits, so was Dig's, but - Barry was a muggle, no one knew about him or her muggle job - there, they'd be safe. "Come with me. I'll take you to somewhere - someone - I trust."   
  
His lips pressed together, eyes flat, but he didn't hesitate when she pulled him close, pictured Barry's flat, and let the magic pull them away.


	8. the west wing 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for you, i wouldn't stop
> 
> (A West Wing AU)

"Felicity, I need to run, where are the memos-"

"On your desk, already."

-and my notes for the Congressman -“

"In your suitcase, Oliver."

"-dammit, I forgot lunch, do you have any more of those power-"

Felicity pointed a manicured finger at the brown bag at the edge of her desk, shaking her head. “One turkey sandwich, lite mustard, no tomatoes, just the way you like it. Plus chips.”

Oliver flashed her a blinding smile, the tension draining from his shoulders, and placed a latte from the hill’s coffee shop on her desk with a wink. “You, Felicity, are remarkable.”

She flushed, cradling the coffee to her chest. “Thank you for remarking on it. Now shoo, you have a meeting with Congressman Michaels about the new defense proposition in ten, so make sure to pay attention when she propositions you-ugh, you know what I mean-“

Oliver smirked, unwrapping his sandwich. She was wearing her cut-out dress today, a particular favorite of his; he admired her, cramming bread and turkey into his mouth-

"Fuck," he cursed, swiping a glob of mustard off his collar with his thumb, "fuck, fuck, fuck- Felicity, do you have an extra shirt?"

She hummed, lifting her eyes from her computer - he cursed about something approximately ten times an hour, she had learned to adapt - and shrieked.

"Oliver Jonas Queen, put your shirt back on! What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

He grinned at her, cocking his head. “I spilled mustard on my shirt, Felicity.”

"Oh," she squeaked, jumping up, "oh, um, good thing I swung by your place before work-where were you, by the way, you weren’t answering your phone?-and got a change of clothes for you, ignore that please…"

She thrust a dry cleaning bag at him, glaring at his smirk.

"What do I need a change of clothes for?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. “The town hall meeting tonight?”

Oliver made a face; she was tempted to call it a pout. “Do I have to go?”

"As the President’s Chief of Staff," Felicity quipped, "I don’t really think you have an option."

"You can go in my place?"

Her lips curled into a smile. “Already going. Nice try, though.”

Instead of returning her grin, though, he frowned. “You are? Why? I thought you were seeing that aide, what’s his face, for dinner?” Barry Allen, his mind helpfully supplied. He ignored the reminder.

Felicity hummed, sipping at her coffee. “The President asked me to come. Plus, I wanted to see Sara.” She took another sip. “Barry and I are having dinner tomorrow instead.”

Good. Maybe tomorrow they’d need to stay late, work on the new guns bill and order burgers instead. He’d think of something.

"Some days," he remarked, "I think the President likes you more than he likes me."

"Well, I haven’t slept with both his daughters for one thing," she teased, never straying focus from her computer. He was glad they were at the point they could joke about it, even if things were still awkward between him and Laurel…

"Trust me, Miss Smoak, that is the least among your admirable qualities."

Oliver and Felicity both jumped; Felicity literally standing to attention.

"Mr. President," she stuttered, "No disrespect meant, sir-"

"None taken," he huffed, shaking his head with a smile. "Oliver, on the other hand, try not to flirt with Sara tonight? I don’t need the Tibet Ambassador calling because Sara broke his girl’s heart."

"I’ll do my best, sir," Oliver replied, eyes focused on Felicity, whose focus, in turn, had returned to organizing his papers. Quentin just rolled his eyes, striding past them to the door.

—-

In the shadow of the town hall meeting that night, the Tibetian Ambassador did call, but for a different reason entirely.


	9. genie!verse 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i wish (more than anything) - part 1
> 
> (An Oliver's a Genie and Felicity's his Mistress AU)

"No, no, no," Oliver chants, cradling Felicity in his arms, pulling her closer to his chest; her arm simply flops to the ground.

She groans, but doesn’t answer, her skin pale and clammy. It’s poison, it must be poison; he’s never seen one work this fast, but he can stop it, he can save her, she just needs to wake up-

"Felicity, come on, come on," he begs, palming her face, shaking her arm, "wake up, you need to wake up, come on, Felicity, just say the words-"

She needs to say the words; he can’t save her unless she asks.

"Oliver?" Felicity finally slurs, nodding into his palm, "wa’happened?"

"Malcolm-Malcolm happened," he chokes. That’s the only explanation, really, the only thing he can think of (that and the fact that Felicity is dying, that Felicity needs to make her last wish, that he’s going to save her and then never see her again). Poison gives enough time to force her into a choice, not enough time to find a cure; poison fits Malcolm’s MO and the dart that hit her only moments before, when he failed to pay attention and protect her - like he promised too - and god, why hasn’t Felicity said anything yet?

He shakes her again, her eyes fluttering open, his vision clouding. “That’s not important, Felicity, you need to say it - just - just say it; I wish you would save me, I wish…”

Her brows furrow down, her lips drawing forward in that familiar oh. He blinks away tears, the pressure in his chest loosening. She understands, good, she’ll live and he’ll-he’ll never see her again, but it’ll be worth it, she’s worth it-

"You already saved me," she murmurs, lips curling upwards, "my turn." She sighs, opening her eyes; they are a clear, flawless blue. "I love you."

Now he doesn’t understand - she’s dying, how can she hold onto that stupid promise; Nyssa’s response had only given them more questions, not answers - there wasn’t another way-

"Felicity," he begs, her eyes already fluttering shut again, her breathes fading away.

(If you wish to set him free, Nyssa had told them, you need love to let go.)

"I wish," she breathes, "to let you go."

He wishes to save her instead.

—-

The chains are missing from his wrists.

He’s born their weight for years, centuries, now, and so, to wake without that burden snaps him awake quicker than any alarm, bringing with it memories he’d rather not have.

Felicity. Malcolm. The poison.

Her wish.

He scrambles up, whipping his head around for any sign, ignoring the pulse reminding him she made her wish, her last choice, and all that he’ll find will be her dead body.

When he sees her, he lunges towards her anyways.

"Felicity," he cries, smoothing her hair back. His voice cracks. "Felicity?"

He’s not expecting a response, but- she draws in a breath. Stirs.

Beyond them, the world goes still.

"Felicity?"

Her eyes flutter open, clear, crystal, and blue.

She did it, she really did it- he doesn’t know how, but he doesn’t care because she’s there and she’s-

She’s pulling away, frowning, her eyes narrowing at him, all traces of love gone.

"Who are you?"

(But, Nyssa had warned, her gaze pinned to Sara: Magic like this always comes with a price.)


	10. terminator 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i came across time for you
> 
> (A Terminator AU)

The clatter of gunfire echoes through the shelter, the same lullaby they’ve slept with for five nights now.

The enemy is closing in. And Thea has yet to return.

Rolling over in his cot, Oliver tries to focus on other, happier things: blonde hair, blue eyes, a smile to make his heart stop-

He gives in with a sigh. It’s not enough.

A hundred, thousand times he’s seen her picture, tracing every line of her face, but his mind holds nothing on the real thing (in his dreams, those rare, precious few, he pictures reality beyond a picture. In his dreams, there’s no war, either.)

Digging into his pocket, he pulls it out, thumbing back the corner that’s folded in on itself. Felicity Smoak’s face beams up at him, the only happy face he’s ever seen.

Felicity Smoak, mother to the resistance.

He wonders how a woman so happy, so full of life raised Thea, their fierce, selfless leader, then remembers Thea’s rare, unhindered smiles, the question, as always, fading away.

Tonight, he thinks about her story: a tech genius, IT girl, who quit her job and her life to sabotage Cybernet and raise Thea, as selfless a hero as he’s heard of or seen.

Did she ever regret it? Her choices?

Did she hate them? The computers she’d spent the first half of her life on turning against her, against humanity?

Had she been scared?

Yeah, he decides, another rat-tat-a-tat of gunfire rattling the walls. She had been scared (if we’re never afraid, we never know what we’ve overcome, Thea had told him one night, younger than him and still wise beyond her ears. He likes to think Felicity told her that).

She had been scared, but she’d smiled anyway, lifting her stubborn chin and facing the world head on, determined to do what she believed was right.

He falls asleep thinking of her, her smile and her bravery, his dream girl, the gunfire finally forgotten.

(The next day, when Thea returns with a mission to save her mother - to meet her mother, as she was, in the photo - Oliver jumps to say yes

She is everything and nothing like he dreamed.)


	11. grey's anatomy au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and the talking leads to touching, and the touching leads to sex (and then there is no mystery left) - part 1
> 
> (A Grey's Anatomy AU)

She doesn’t remember her bed - no, not her bed, her bed was in  _Boston_ , back where she would really like to be, along with the rest of her worldly possessions and her life and the nice 3000 mile distance she liked to maintain between herself and her mother at all times - anyways, this was her mattress, lumpy and covered with a sheet, and she doesn’t remember it being quite so, well, warm.  And cuddly.  And - 

Jesus frickin’ Christ,  _that_ was not her mattress. 

Felicity shrieked, hurling herself away from the very naked, very awake man on the very not-cleaned floors of her (read: her mother’s) house (she hadn’t had time to clean yet, between the moving and the doctoring and the unpacking, screw her.  Ugh, not _literally_ ).  

"Good morning," he grinned, propping his head up on his hands - his very large, very dextrous hands, if her alcohol-fused memories were anything to go by.  Hands like that would make excellent surgeon’s hands, just the right size and shape and -

Sunlight hit her eyes.  Surgeon’s hands. Morning. It was morning.   _Crap._

"What time is it?!" Felicity bolted upwards, clinging the sheet to her chest.  Clothes, clothes, she needed clothes - her bra and underwear and a shower, she smelled like vodka and sex and this was _so_  not the impression she wanted to make for her first day of work.  She had people to impress, dammit; she needed to prove she had gotten there on her skills and not her legacy; fuck, where had he thrown her  _bra_?  (She had the distinct memory of teeth and sucking and those very talented hands and flushed red.)

"Almost seven," The Guy (did he have a name?) answered, still smiling at her - was he on drugs?  had she brought home a drug addict?  Shit, she needed to get him out of her house, and fast, and she needed to _leave._ He sat up finally, stretching muscled forearms behind him, “There’s a great diner near the hospital-” (Yes, the hospital, where she needed _to be_ ) “-we can get breakfast there?”

Felicity paused her hunt for her bra, lifting her head from the pile of clothes in the corner of the room (Armani pants, she noted - who _was_ this guy?).  

"Breakfast?"

His smile grew wider.  He stood, revealing a set of abs she would very much like to reacquaint herself with (why, oh why, had she drunk so much last night?  Alcohol was not the answer to nerves; she had learned that lesson years ago).  ”Breakfast,” he nodded, “Very delicious, very important meal.  They make great pancakes, I hear.”

"I know what breakfast is." She just didn’t understand why he wanted to eat it.  With her.  Now.  "I can’t, though."  His lips pressed together; his eyebrows drew downwards - she couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss him or cuddle him, with a face like that.  "Not that I don’t want to eat you-" And there was that smile again. Fuck, even his teeth were perfect.  She was so _screwed_ (Not, again, like that).  ”Eat with you, I mean - you know what, forget it, three, two, one-“

He bound forward; she stumbled back, towards the stairs - no, nope, him and his abs needed to _leave_ and she needed to go to the hospital and impress everyone with her flawless surgeon skills for her first day of work.  

"We can do all sorts of eating," he smirked, "whatever you want."

Right now?  She wanted to forget this had ever happened.  

"I’m sorry," she babbled, moving herself towards the stairs, "I just - I have to go, I’m late, it’s my first day of work - and um, we don’t have to do - the thing, you know - not the _sex thing_ , I mean, cause we definitely already did that, but the morning after thing…”

It was like she had punctured a balloon; the smile dropped from his face, a grimace-smile thing replacing it.  Felicity ignored the guilt and trudged on; now was not the time to feel bad for kicking out her very attractive one-night-stand (what had he expected, anyways?  This wasn’t - it wasn’t like they were going to be - bar pick-up’s did not equal  _things_.)

"Anyways," she continued, clutching the sheet tighter, "I’m, um, going to go shower cause work and just, you can let yourself out, no worries."

Now even his grimace-smile vanished.  

"It was nice meeting you…" she tried, flapping a hand forward - they had ten feet between them, what was he going to do, come shake her hand? 

"Oliver," he supplied, actually crossing the room to yeah, shake her hand like last night had been a fucking business transaction.  Good sex, thanks, leave your rating in the comment box by the door.  He raised an eyebrow.  

"Felicity," she squeaked, yanking her hand away.  Up close, it was easy to remember why she had dragged him home in the first place - and she really needed him to  _go_.  ”Bye, um, Oliver!  Thanks!”

She ran up the stairs, red staining her cheeks.  Thanks?  Who the hell said _thanks_?  

She did, apparently.  Her alarm from upstairs shrieked, and she hustled towards the shower, away from Oliver and his smile (and his abs and his face and those very nice hands of his).  God, she hoped he was gone when she came back down.  Otherwise, she was  _screwed_.   


	12. captain america: winter soldier 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> til the end of the line - part 1
> 
> (A Captain America: Winter Solider AU)

"Who the hell is Felicity?"

He nearly drops his arrow - still coated with his blood and hers - pain rocking him back. It’s her, he knows it’s her, how could he forget her face (when it’s her he dreams about every night)

"Felicity," he stutters, stumbling forward, his hand reaching out - except she leaps at him, and the pain isn’t shock, he realizes - she threw a goddamn knife at him -

He twists his hand up, blocking her attack; she ducks down, aims her knee for his stomach; he dives back just in time, but doesn’t respond -

He can’t fight her; this is Felicity, his Felicity -

He blocks a blow to his head and lunges for her wrist when she goes for his heart (she knows his weak spots, of course she does, when did she learn to fight, where, when - how is she alive? How could he not know?). She spins away, her blue eyes cold and flat as ice, and then they widen -

"Felicity?" he gasps, stepping forward, hands out.

She crumples in on herself, collapsing to the ground. Sara stands behind her.

"Felicity," he chokes, diving forward, hands scrambling for her pulse, the assurance that she is alive, alive and here after all these years-

"Oliver," Sarah growls, wrapping her arms round his middle, yanking him back, "Oliver, come on, we have to go, the venom won’t last forever -"

"No," he chokes, fighting back, arm flailing forward, his hand grasping at air, at her -

—-

"Felicity," he’d growled, hovering, his hand clenched round his bow, "we have to go; we’re out of time-"

"Just give me another minute, Oliver," she’d snapped, fingers separating wires, blue, red, black, knife clasped in her right hand, "I can do this, I just need more time…"

She’d pulled a wire free, had held her knife against it before flickering her eyes to his, the glass of her frames magnifying them.

"You should…you should go. In case I’m wrong. No reason for the two of us to blow up, right?"

She’d smiled at him and he’d recoiled, nausea rolling through him. That was - that was - unthinkable…

"If you’re not leaving," he’d told her, enunciating each word, "then I’m not leaving."

She’d cut the wire.

—-

"No, Sara, no!" he yells, tearing away from his present, back to his past, "I can’t-I’m not-Felicity!" Sara latches onto his arm again; Dig grabs the other. "I’m not leaving her, no, not again!"

"It’s not her Ollie," Sara growls in his ear, "that’s not Felicity, not like you remember her - she’s dangerous-"

She’s starting to stir, the fingers of her right hand twitching. There’s no polish on her nails.

"Ollie, that woman is not your Felicity, we need to go - you don’t know what she’s capable of-"

—-

Sara slumped against the wall outside Waller’s hospital room, tangling fingers in her blonde hair. Her eyes ducked away from his stare, clouded in memory - a look he was more than familiar with.

Now, though, they didn’t have time for ghosts and phantom pains.

She’d stopped Waller’s assassin when he had failed. Had recognized her and called her by name.

How?

"Sara," he snapped. "What the hell?"

His partner (and god, that word still sent a pang through his chest) rolled her neck, lifting her eyes to meet his.

"Before I joined ARGUS," she explained, voice flat, "you know I didn’t have the most - savory - past. She - "

Sara cut herself off, pursed her lips. She’d been remolded, he knew, into a killer. Like him, she’d been remade.

"She’s a ghost. A bed time story told to spies, to scare us in the night. They call her the Hood."

She’d swung into his apartment, taken out Waller with three quick knives to the chest. She’d worn a heavy black hood as a shield - he’d never seen her face.

Yeah, the Hood seemed about right. Oliver glared at Sara. She knew more, and as usual, she wasn’t telling.

"I knew her," Sara confessed, eyes distant again, "before ARGUS. That’s how I could fight her."

She didn’t say anything else.

—-

He stops fighting.

To lunge for Sara instead. Now Dig holds him back, biceps straining.

"You knew! You knew who she was and you-and you-"

She left her. Like he did.

—-

The beeping had stopped. Felicity had deactivated the bomb.

"There," she had chided, beaming up at him, "all done, as promised! Time for you to take me home." Red had seared her cheeks and he’d laughed, wishing, as always, that her gaffe had been serious instead of a slip. "And this is why I am not fit for polite society."

"Society," he had told her, offering a hand to help her up, "is not fit enough for you."

A smile had bloomed on both their faces. He had thought, like a fool, that maybe that night he’d muster up the nerve to ask her for a dance, let Tommy flirt alone with Laurel for once.

The clang of gunfire had interrupted the last happy thought he could remember. Flickering his gaze downwards, he’d thought, again, about requesting a kiss for luck.

Instead, he’d shoved her towards the corner of the room and promised to return.

He’d heard the explosion on his way back.

And for sixty years, he’d thought he would never see her again.

-

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," Sara yells, clutching his face in her hands, "Ollie, I will tell you everything, I promise you, but we have to go, you have to trust me, please-"

Dig doesn’t give him the option, deciding enough’s enough.

"We’re not leaving her, man," he interrupts, perhaps the best one here to understand grief and survivor’s guilt. "We’re making a strategic retreat. We’re gonna come back and get your-Felicity."

In front of him, Oliver sees the struggle cross Sara’s face, until her shoulders slump. She nods at him.

He let’s them drag him through the rubble of the highway, away from her and back towards the safe house.

-

It took him weeks to stop searching the building for her, then for her remains.

No one had been strong enough to drag him away.


	13. harry potter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by allstartstofade/forthecoast:
> 
> Harry Potter AU + Any scene involving Felicity and Arrow
> 
> [Timeline-wise, this takes place several months after HP 1 Drabble - Oliver’s already convinced Felicity of his innocence, and in exchange, Felicity has taken up a teaching position at Hogwarts to keep an eye on Thea and to protect her from Slade.]

"So," Professor Palmer gesticulated, twirling his wand through his spindly fingers, "Headmaster Waller said something about needing new wards?"

"What?" Felicity jerked up from her desk, only just stopping a jar of verdant ink from bleeding across the essays she had been grading.  "I’ve - I mean, John’s already come by; I don’t _need_ \- “

Whatever she did or did not need was cut off by a rather fierce growl; this time, she _did_ knock her ink bottle off the desk, a bright green Warhol splattering across her once crimson robes. “O - _Arrow_ ,” she chastised, digging her nails into the fur beneath his collar. He only fought her grip, dragging past his usual spot at her feet to blockade Felicity from Professor Palmer, who stood rather hesitantly by the door. “Arrow!” she hissed, his barks drowning her out - the jerk had finally figured out how to overpower her Loud Voice, as if she would just stop talking without it - “Arrow, down boy! _Down!_ ”

He lurched forward, slipping right out of her fingers, but  _did_ squat down a safe distance between herself and the door (herself and Professor Palmer - who really, despite his DADA trainings, was  _harmless_.  Or at least incompetent at the Defensive Arts, according to Diggle, who’d had to rework her private wards for two days to elevate them to his exceptional Auror standards).  

At least O -  _Arrow_ , she reminded herself, one never knew when a Legilimens could be around, had reduced his barking to a low, thrumming growl (It was, though, she conceded, getting really hard to keep track of who knew whose secret identity now that John knew the truth).  

"I’m so sorry, Professor Palmer" she babbled, positioning herself next to Arrow, just out of Professor Palmer’s reach. "I don’t know what’s gotten into him; he’s normally _so_ well behaved -” if she flicked Arrow behind the ear then, well, it was the least he had suffered in the past ten years, and oh god, she was a  _terrible_ person for thinking that, what was  _wrong_ with her, she needed to wash her brain out with soap, though maybe that was the solution for dirty, not horrid, thoughts…

She flushed.   _Not_ that she’d had any inappropriate thoughts about O - Arrow either.  It had been much too long for that.  So very long in fact.  Though, there’d been a time when she’d had inappropriate thoughts _all_ the time, multiple times -  

"Call me Ray," Professor Palmer interrupted, slipping his wand into his back pocket, "We are colleagues after all, Professor Smoak.  Right?"

"Right," Felicity repeated, brows furrowing together.  Stepping around Arrow, she held out her hand for him to shake, forgetting only until it was too late to pull back that most Wizards - especially purebloods - frowned upon such Muggleborn customs.  "Please, um, call me Felicity. Professor Smoak still sounds like Oliv -  _someone’s_ mother asking for me.”

Ray Palmer’s handsome face twisted into something resembling pity; thankfully, he didn’t ask her to complete the thought.  The brush of warm, wet skin against her palm registered as Arrow’s nose, his own form of comfort - or him seeking comfort, as it may be - but Felicity pushed away those thoughts to smile back at her visitor, still standing rather awkwardly by the door. 

"You were saying something about wards?" she prompted, holding onto that happy facade.  

"Um, yes," he stuttered, waving his hand through the air, "The Headmaster asked me to drop by, said you’d requested extra protection in light of the, um, _circumstances_.”

Felicity laughed and hoped it didn’t sound as fake as it felt. “Oh no,” she replied, “Auror Diggle already took care of me. He made sure to use extra protection.” The words replayed in her mind, the innuendo sticking out. “Extra care, I mean. Extra care  _with_ the protection he used on me.  Not me as in  _me_ , but my wards.  And now I just sound like I’m talking in riddles,” she trailed off. 

"I wouldn’t mind solving you," Ray bantered back, before a blush crept up his face as well.  Arrow’s growl picked back up, the fur of his neck replacing the comforting wetness of his nose.  "Solving your riddles, I mean.  I loved Arithmancy back at school - it was my favorite class, in fact."

"Me too," Felicity beamed, trying to nudge Arrow back with her knee, her leg no match for his bulk. When pushing didn’t work, Arrow barked, one sharp, loud note that pierced the room.  

"I’d better get him back to my rooms," Felicity sighed, glaring down at her - pet? partner? ex? - "He gets cranky when he hasn’t eaten in too long."

"He’s a good guard dog, at least, doing his job - I’m assuming that’s why you bought him…" Shaking his head, Ray backed into the door, fingering his wand in his pocket. "It looks like you have protection enough though.  Headmaster Waller must have been mistaken; looks like there wasn’t a need for me after all."

"Right," Felicity responded, tugging on her robes, at a loss for words for the first time since - since, well,  _August_ \- what exactly she should say. “Thank you - though. For, um, coming. To check, I mean. It was sweet.”

"My pleasure," Ray mocked a half bow, twirling his wand once more through his fingers, "And - may I?"  Before she could respond, he’d waved his wand at her robes, the verdant ink pulling forth and coiling back into the bottle.  

Felicity’s eyebrows raised.  A silently cast _Tergeo -_ that  _was_ powerful magic.  Maybe Ray wasn’t as ill-suited for the DADA job as she’d thought…

Before she could answer, he’d stepped through the door, smiling brightly at her. “Stay safe, Felicity,” he called, “You never where that madman might be hiding.”  Turning away, he shut the door behind him, leaving Felicity and Arrow alone at last.

Running her fingers absent-mindedly over Arrow’s ears, Felicity finally accepted his nudging and began the walk to her own privately-warded rooms.  

That, right there, was her problem.  She could cast the most powerful of wards, raise the strongest of protection spells.  

But in order for them to work, she had to keep the danger on the outside, locking it out so it only looked in.  She had to _identify_ the man, the murderer, the perpetrator of his crimes as an anomaly to her presence. The magic would not function any other way.  

But Oliver Queen, for all his wrongs, had _not_ massacred thirteen people, ten years ago.  Oliver Queen had  _not_ betrayed his parents and sister, had  _not_ turned traitor to his flesh and blood and loved ones.  

Oliver Queen was innocent.  And it was only an innocent man who could cross her threshold.

Arrow bounded ahead of her, through the open door and onto the couch he preferred next to the fire.  He’d change once the doors and wards had been raised, her protections in place for the evening.    

Past the first layer of spells - those against legilimency - Felicity corrected herself: only an innocent man could cross her threshold - an innocent man or an innocent _dog_.       


End file.
